


second hand smoke

by tripletmoons



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Tags will be added as story updates, cipa!Neil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:18:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tripletmoons/pseuds/tripletmoons
Summary: "Scream, Nathanial." His mother told him. "Scream when you see blood; cry if- when he cuts you.""Why?" He asked, staring down at his cut-up hands as his mother washes them clean, sink water running red."Because it's supposed to hurt, baby. If he knows it doesn't hurt, he might do something else to you. Something worse."(An AU where Neil Josten has CIPA (cannot feel pain) and unadvisedly goes off on people like it's going out of style)





	second hand smoke

His mother had a lot of rules: don't draw attention to yourself, don't start fights, check yourself constantly, don't be reckless,  _keep running **.**_ He followed these rules for her, because he loved her and wanted to keep her safe, because she cared about him and  _she said so_.  

She was dead now, her bones and ashes buried by his hands out in the desert. Without her, he finds that he is bad at rules, bad at being on the run. He lacks the sharp edge that kept his mother moving forward: flight instinct ( _fear)_. Neil, down to the bone, is all unadvised fight, no matter how much his mother tried to train it out of him. All the caution he has is built through routine, not felt. 

That's why, staring down the folder with his newest name on it, Neil's feet stall. 

_Collegiate Exy._

It's as good as a death sentence. Better than: it's a death promise. Prison won't hold his Father forever. Playing a televised sport, standing in the spotlight; Neil will not last long. _Neil Josten: Exy Player, Dead Man Walking_.

The logical response, the response his mother would want from him, is to run, to turn tail and leave Neil Josten in the dust. 

But- but staring down the folder with his newest name on it, Neil's feet stall. 

It's as good as a one-way ticked to a future, to having a legitimate existence (albeit a short one). It's a chance to play, to really play. To push himself with people pushing themselves. 

Exy: the star-crossed lover. He wants it so bad he imagines it feels like pain. His Mother fucking well warned him. 

Neil Josten: Exy Player, Real Boy

He wants it so bad it _hurts._

Neil considers his current lot in life: a duffel bag full of all his worldly possessions, cold nights sleeping on school benches, a dead mother, a neigh complete high school degree. A life that doesn't involve a lot of living, one that's far over the natural expiration date anyhow.

His Mother's words ring in his ears: _Check yourself_.

"I think," he forces out tightly, "that I will need to think about it."

"It's a bit sudden, but I really do need an answer tonight. The Committee's been hounding me ever since Janie got locked up." The Coach says.

Neil's gaze snaps up. "Foxes." He says, stomach at his feet. "The Palmetto State Foxes."

_Kevin Day._  Kevin Day's  _team_. The sheer irony of this situation isn't beyond him.

Coach Wymack looks surprised Neil put it together that fast. He shouldn't be. Neil has Kevin's face in his runaway binder. Neil has followed the careers of Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama with the desperation of a dehydrated man seeking water.

Neil Josten: Exy Player, Real Boy, Palmetto State Fox.

_Check yourself_. His mother urges. _Check yourself checkyourself checkyourself-._

He takes a deep breath. "Do you have the contract with you?" 

The Coach nods. He doesn’t look so much triumphant as relieved. "In the folder." 

"Do you have money with you?"

"I'm not going to bribe you." He says, eyebrow spiking.

"I think if I pushed, you might. This whole stunt reeks of desperation. But, luckily for you, I just want to think this over with dinner." 

Wymack other eyebrow joins his hairline; he scoops up Neil's folder. "Yeah, you'll fit right in."

Knowing what he knows about the Foxes, Neil thinks this is likely true. He is also astute enough to know a backhanded insult when he hears one. 

"Chinese Food." He orders, just to be contrary. 

"Alright. Let's just go get the other two." 

Neil feels the stirring of what might be trepidation. "Other two?" 

"Andrew and Kevin." The Coach says, leading his way up the bleachers. 

_Jesus Christ_ , Neil thinks, and reaches for his cigarettes, lighting one up between his fingers. The smell is both grounding and nauseating; the smell of his mother, alive and dead. She must be rolling in her grave by now, he thinks, chasing bile back down his throat with an inhale of smoke.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure when exactly I am going to work on this more but rest assured: I will.


End file.
